Break Like It's Even
by paperstorm
Summary: Part of my Deleted Scenes series, the tag for 'Children Shouldn't Play With Dead Things', 2x4. Wincest.


**Part of my Deleted Scenes series. Full list of fics in reading order available on my profile page :)**

**Dialogue at the beginning is from the episode 'Children Shouldn't Play With Dead Things', 2x4. It belongs to Eric Kripke and Raelle Tucker. **

* * *

"We need to talk," Dean says bluntly the second Dr. Mason opens the door.

He frowns, but then he opens it a little wider and says, "Well then come in."

"Thanks," Sam mutters apologetically. He really doesn't like where Dean's head's at right now, where it's been ever since they first got to Mom's grave. Sam knows his brother well enough to know whatever kind of confrontation Dean's planning on having with this guy probably won't end well.

"You teach ancient Greek? Tell me, what are these?" Dean asks, unfolding the piece of paper and handing it over.

The man looks at them for a moment before he answers. "I don't understand. You said this has something to do with Angela?"

"It does. Please, just humor me."

Dean smiles a little, but there's nothing even remotely happy about the look in his eyes.

"They're part of an ancient Greek divination ritual."

"Used for necromancy, right?"

"That's right," Dr. Mason replies.

"See, before we came over here, we stopped by the library and did a little homework ourselves," Dean says angrily, while Sam glances warily back and forth between the two of them and wonders if it's too much to hope Dean might keep his cool. "Apparently, they use rituals like this one for communicating with the dead. Even bringing corpses back to life, full-on zombie action."

"Yeah. I mean, according to the legends. Now what's all this about?"

"I think you know."

"Dean," Sam warns. He's not surprised at all when he's ignored.

"Look, I get it," Dean grinds out. "There are people that I would give _anything_ to see again, but what gives you the right?"

"Dean!" Sam tries again.

"What are you talking about?" Dr. Mason asks.

"What's dead should stay dead!" Dean cries.

"_What?_"

"Stop it!" Sam shouts, but Dean just barrels on.

"What you brought back isn't even your daughter anymore! These things are vicious, they're violent! They're so nasty they rot the ground around them, I mean, come on! Haven't you seen Pet Cemetery?"

"You're insane." Dr. Mason walks over to a table with a telephone and picks it up.

"Where is she?" Dean yells.

"Get out of my house!"

Dean grabs the phone out of the man's hands and throws it down. "I know you're hiding her somewhere! Where is she?"

Out of the corner of his eye, something green catches Sam's attention, and he turns briefly, met by the site of a window ledge packed full of orchids and ferns and a few other plants he doesn't recognize. He reacts instinctively, grabbing Dean's arm.

"Dean, stop, that's enough!" he says loudly. "Dean, look! Beautiful, living plants! We're leaving," he adds to Dr. Mason, while Dean roughly shrugs Sam's hand off his arm and storms away.

"I'm calling the police!"

"Sir, we're sorry. We won't bother you again," Sam insists, following his fuming brother out the door and down the front steps. "What the hell is the matter with you, Dean?"

"Back off."

"That man is innocent! He didn't deserve that!"

"Okay, so she's not here! Maybe he's keeping her somewhere else!"

"Stop it!" Sam explodes. "That's enough, okay? Enough!"

"Sam, I know what I'm doing!"

"No, you don't! At all! Dean, I don't scare easy, but man, you're scaring the crap outta me!"

"Don't be over dramatic, Sam," Dean says with a smarmy smile.

"You're lucky this turned out to be a real case! 'Cause if it wasn't, you would've just found something else to kill!"

Dean finally stops walking; he turns to Sam and frowns at him. "What?"

"You're on edge, you're erratic, except for when you're hunting, 'cause then you're downright scary!" Sam cries, creeping up on desperate now. He can't watch Dean slowly falling apart like this anymore, he just can't it hurts too much. "You're tail-spinning, man! And you refuse to talk about it, and you won't let me help you!"

"I can take care of myself, thanks," Dean growls.

"No, you can't! And you know what, you're the only one who thinks you should have to! You don't have to handle this on your own, Dean! No one can!"

"Sam, if you bring up Dad's death one more time, I swear – "

"Stop, please! It's killing you!" Sam begs. "Please. We've already lost Dad. We've lost Mom, I've lost Jessica. And now I'm gonna lose you too?"

Sam's voice breaks over his words, but he doesn't care. There's a glimmer of something that looks a bit like sadness passing over Dean's features, and it just makes Sam's heart sink even further into his gut. Watching Dean break like this is even worse than Dad dying. Every instinct in Sam's body is screaming at him, practically every moment of every day, to just grab Dean and kiss him and hold him and love him until every bad feeling goes away. And the fact that he can't, that Dean won't let him, is driving Sam insane. Nothing feels right anymore; the fact that it's been over a month since they've had any real physical contact feels so wrong Sam can't even wrap his mind around it. It isn't even about sex. It's about Dean being one of Sam's vital organs. He can't breathe without him. The amount of distance and animosity and emotional turmoil between them right now, it's like somebody tore out Sam's liver and then asked him to keep living his life like nothing's different.

"We better get outta here before the cops come," Dean says unfeelingly.

Sam's throat squeezes shut and his eyes burn.

"I hear you, okay?" Dean adds quickly. "Yeah, I'm bein' an ass. And I'm sorry. But right now we got a freakin' zombie runnin' around, we need to figure out how to kill it. Right?"

In spite of how upset he still is, Sam can't help but laugh. "Our lives are weird, man."

"You're tellin' me. C'mon."

* * *

Dean won't look at him. They've been driving for about a half hour, maybe a little more, and even though Sam keeps tossing worried glances over that he _knows_ Dean notices, Dean still won't look back. He's gripping the steering wheel so tightly his fingers have gone from red to white to purple, and Sam would bet Dean can't even feel them anymore. And he's staring intensely straight ahead, all out glaring at the pavement passing in front of them. There's even a muscle twitching in Dean's temple. Sam glances warily at his brother again, starting to get a little concerned. Dean's been agitated all day, fuck, he's been agitated for over a week now, but then it's never been as bad as it was today. Sam was pretty sure Dean was about ten seconds away from decking that old man, if Sam hadn't managed to wrestle him out of the house he's not even sure what would've gone down, and that scares him. Really, truly _scares_ him. He meant what he said earlier; he can't lose Dean too. Not after everything else. He wouldn't survive it.

Sam chances another glance over at his practically-seething brother, and then, out of nowhere, Dean's swerving into the oncoming lane and pulling over onto the gravel shoulder.

Sam looks up in surprise. "Dean?"

Dean doesn't answer, he just roughly shoves the car into park and then gets out, slamming the door behind him. He runs a hand over his mouth and stalks a few steps away. Sam blinks a few times, utterly baffled, and then he's scrambling out of the car and moving over to where Dean's seated on the hood.

"Dean, what is it?" Sam asks, starting to seriously worry now.

For a long moment, Dean doesn't say anything, he just stares ahead into nothing, squinting a little in the sunlight. "I'm sorry," he says finally.

"You – for what?" Sam asks, genuinely confused.

"The way I've been acting."

Oh. Sam sighs and goes to join his brother on the hood of the car. The metal groans and the shocks dip at the addition of Sam's weight. He's close enough to Dean that he can smell him, and Sam can't help the very slight swell of arousal that rolls through his body. But he's not touching. Dean hasn't touched him since Dad died, and it's been awful for too many reasons to count, but Sam's not going to push.

"And for Dad," Dean continues quietly. "He was your Dad too, and it's my fault he's gone."

"What are you talking about?" Sam asks incredulously, wishing Dean would look at him.

"I know you've been thinking it, so've I. Doesn't take a genius to figure it out. Back at the hospital, a full recovery. It was a miracle." Dean glances over at Sam for just a second. "And then five minutes later Dad's dead and the colt's gone."

"Dean – " Sam protests, but Dean doesn't let him finish.

"You can't tell me there's not a connection," Dean says thickly, eyes filling with tears. "I don't know how the demon was involved, I don't know how the whole thing went down exactly, but Dad's dead because of me, and … and that much I do know."

"We don't know that. Not for sure."

"Sam," Dean whispers, his voice small and broken. "You, and Dad, you're the most important people in my life. And now … I never should'a come back, Sam, it wasn't natural. And now look what's come of it."

Sam doesn't say anything, _can't_ say anything, but he can barely believe the words coming out of his big brother's mouth right now. Dean blames himself for everything and now he's found a way to make _this_ his fault too? The thought alone is physically painful.

"I was dead. And I should'a stayed dead." Dean's lower lip trembles a little as he fights to keep it together. "You wanted to know how I was feeling, well that's it."

Sam nods sharply, a wall of emotion hitting his chest and taking his breath away.

"So tell me, what could you possibly say to make that alright?" Dean asks sadly, looking over at Sam one more time, tears spilling down his cheeks.

That question is like a bullet in Sam's heart, or a white-hot knife in his gut. His breath hitches and his throat twists and cuts off his oxygen supply. His whole world tilts off it's axis at the thought of Dean so sad and broken that he thinks even Sam can't make things better. Sam's always been able to make things better for Dean, usually by just being there. It's the same the other way around; usually Dean doesn't need to actually say anything to make everything okay again. Just having him in the same room helps sometimes. But this … this is worse, somehow, than anything they've ever had to deal with before. Dean's still crying quietly beside him, but it's a good few minutes before Sam can even think straight enough to speak.

"Dean," he begins, almost inaudibly even in his own head. He reaches over to brush tentative fingers over Dean's shoulder, but Dean tenses up and jerks away.

"Dean, please," Sam mumbles, desperate. "You gotta let me help you."

"You can't," Dean breathes, standing up and wiping angrily at the tears on his face like they're offending him by being there.

Then he takes a few steps away, and Sam sniffs as watches his brother's shoulders tense and shake. And that's it, Sam can't hold back anymore. He doesn't care if Dean tries to pull away or yells at him or even hits him again, it doesn't matter. Sam's going to be there for his stupid, stubborn brother whether Dean wants him to or not. He pushes his body off the car and moves over toward Dean, still tentative and hesitant because it's not exactly like Dean's just going to _let_ Sam hug him right now. Tough shit, though, Dean needs it, even if he doesn't know he does. Sam slowly moves in against Dean's back, and when Dean feels him there but doesn't flinch, Sam slides his hands down Dean's ribcage, settling on the jutting hipbones. Dean twitches a little and then tenses again, but doesn't push Sam away, so Sam goes for broke and presses in completely so his chest is flush against Dean's back. His arms circle around Dean's waist and he holds on tightly.

"I can't make it go away," Sam murmurs against Dean's neck. "But I can make it _better_. At least a little."

Dean nods once, his body still rigid and unyielding. "I don't know what t'do."

"I know." Sam kisses Dean's hair and rubs his palm in circles on Dean's stomach. "Talk to me."

"Can't." Dean heaves a shuddering sigh. "S'too hard."

"Okay." Sam squeezes Dean a little tighter, hating how Dean's chest is still shaking a bit against his. "What … what can I do, then?"

"I don't know," Dean mutters thickly, reaching up to wipe more wetness from his face. "Why isn't this wearing on you like it is on me? I mean, he was your Dad too, why am I the only one shouting at victims and sobbing on the side of the road like some pathetic idiot?"

"You're not pathetic." Sam leans forward and kisses Dean's cheek, and then rests his chin on Dean's shoulder. "And it is wearing on me. I miss him a lot."

"Yeah, but you're not doing, you know, _this_." Dean gestures toward himself.

"I…" Sam pauses. He needs to be really careful about how he words this. "What you said, about it not being a coincidence that you made a full recovery and then Dad was just gone. I … you're right. I think you're right. And I – I mean, don't get me wrong, it's awful that Dad's gone. I miss him every day. But it was so close to being you, to you being the one who …"

Dean stiffens and pulls away from Sam. There are still tears in his eyes but he looks pissed again. "So you, wait, you're saying that you're _happy_ about what Dad did?"

"No, I … okay, in a way, yeah, I am." Sam pushes his hair out of his eyes. "Look, what happened to Dad, it sucks. It really does. But when I think about how easily it could've gone the other way?" Sam swallows around a lump in his throat, his voice choked with emotion. "Dean I – I couldn't do this without you."

"You're unbelievable." Dean shakes his head and looks away, jaw clenching again.

"Whatever Dad did, Dean he did it for us," Sam continues, a desperate edge to his voice now. "He did it because he loved us, because knew we need each other. He knew I wouldn't make it without you."

Dean snorts a derisive laugh.

"It's the truth and you know it," Sam insists. "I know it's hard to wrap your head around, and I know you feel like you shouldn't be here, like you don't _deserve_ to be here. And I can't even imagine how crappy that must feel, I'm so, so sorry that you have to feel that way."

Dean huffs a little, and shakes his head, a few more tears managing to escape past the wall he's trying so hard to put up. Sam takes a step towards his brother, and Dean doesn't move away when Sam reaches out and cups his cheek in his palm.

"I know it sucks. But I am so grateful that Dad did whatever he did," Sam murmurs. "I love you. And if I could, I'd thank Dad for giving you back to me."

Dean nods shortly, sniffing and looking at the ground through watery eyelashes. He probably isn't going to say anything else, probably _can't_ right now, so Sam just stoops down and wraps him up, his arms tight around Dean's back. Dean doesn't fight this time, he slides his arms around Sam's neck and clings. It's been a really long time since Dean's hugged Sam like this, holding on tightly, desperately, like he's afraid he'll dissolve if he lets go. Sam sort of feels that way all the time – feels like he's spinning out of control and Dean's the only thing that keeps him tethered to the ground. And Dean's good at it. He should be, he's spent his whole life trying to help Sam keep a bit of normality in their messed up world. It's crazy and selfish, but there's a small part of Sam that likes it when Dean breaks like this. He likes getting the chance to be needed.

He's not really sure how long they stand there, the tips of Dean's fingers digging into the back of Sam's shoulders as he holds on, but it's long enough that it startles them both when a eighteen-wheeler wooshes by and honks. Sam jumps a little and laughs in surprise, and Dean watches the truck drive away and then shakes his head, smiling.

"We – were we just _holding_ each other on the side of a freakin' highway?" he asks.

Sam chuckles. "Uh, yeah. We totally were."

Dean shakes his head again and then leans down so his forehead is resting on Sam's shoulder. "We've officially become gay," he groans, and Sam laughs again.

"Don't worry, you're still super butch and manly," he cracks, leaning down and lightly smacking Dean's ass.

Dean pokes him in the ribs and then straightens back up, rolling his eyes. "Thanks. I feel a lot better now, asshole."

Sam grins and nods toward the car. "Should we … ?"

"Yeah, okay."

Sam turns and takes a step, but then a hand grabs his arm and stops him.

"Hey, Sammy?" Dean takes a deep breath and looks away.

"Yeah?"

"You … I mean …" Dean mumbles, gesturing vaguely, and somehow Sam actually does know what he means.

"You're welcome." He leans down and kisses Dean gently, then takes his brother's hand and pulls him toward the Impala. When Dean gets close enough, Sam reaches around his hips so he can slip his hand into the pocket of Dean's jacket, grabbing the keys. "I'm driving."

Dean rolls his eyes again, but doesn't protest. He slips into the passenger's seat and tries to get comfortable, although it's clear he doesn't fit there as well as he fits behind the wheel. Sam can't help smiling affectionately as he drops his body down onto the bench seat. Honestly, he's not as comfortable here either as he is on the other side of the car. He's never looked closely enough to notice, but after so many years of sitting there, there's probably a Sam-shaped imprint in the leather seat. And there's probably a Dean-shaped one where Sam's sitting right now.

"Hey, I, uh …" Sam huffs a laugh. "I know I give you a lot of slack about how much you love this car, but I'm really glad you rebuilt it."

"You are?"

Sam nods and rubs his thumb against the steering wheel. "Yeah. It's not just a car, you know? It's the only home I've ever had."

"Aw, you hear that, baby?" Dean drawls, patting the dashboard lovingly. "We got Sammy! Even Sammy's in love with you now."

Sam laughs. "Shut up. I'm not in love with it. I'm just happy we still have it."

"Her, Sammy, not it. She's a she." Dean reaches over and pokes Sam again, and Sam shakes his head in exasperation.

"Yeah, alright. Freak." Sam starts the ignition and pulls back onto the highway.

* * *

It takes him about twenty minutes to find a decent looking motel, and another five to book them a room and unload the car. Dean doesn't speak and continues to avoid his gaze, but he doesn't look pissed off anymore, just kind of … drained. Sam knows the feeling. He unloads the car by himself because it doesn't seem to occur to Dean that he might need his bag, and even after Dean's out of the car Sam has to sort of nudge him toward the door.

It's kind of cute, actually. Dean looks a little lost right now and there's something endearing about his usually confident, ass-kicking big brother wide-eyed and blinking around at the room like he doesn't remember how he got here. But it's also kind of sad, that what couldn't have been more than ten minutes of crying drains Dean this much. He has John Winchester to thank for that. It's not like Dean ever really learned to handle emotions. So instead he holds everything in until there's no more room and it all explodes out of him, like it did today. A single chink in the armor breaks him, and Sam hates that. Hates that his brother seems so strong but is actually so fragile.

Dean continues to look around for a minute, like he's not sure what he's supposed to be doing, but then he comes back to himself a little, shrugging out of his jacket and dropping his body down onto the bed. Sam got a room with one bed purposely, because for the last few weeks Dean's been getting them singles and the distance between them seems farther than it's ever been right now. Even worse than Palo Alto. That's changing right now. Sam can't stand being so isolated from Dean anymore.

He moves over to the bed and sits facing his brother. Dean's eyes are closed but he's not sleeping, and when the mattress dips under Sam's weight, Dean's body slides towards him a little so his hip is touching Sam's knee.

"You okay?" Sam asks quietly. Feels like he's asking that question constantly lately.

"M'fine, Sammy. Just tired."

Dean doesn't open his eyes and he sounds a little annoyed, so Sam mutters, "Kay," and turns, but Dean's hand stops him again.

"Sorry," he mumbles. "Don't go?"

Sam smiles. That's more like it. "Not going. Can I?" he answers, gesturing toward the bed.

Dean nods, and Sam crawls over his legs and settles himself down beside Dean, curling into his brother's warm body and resting his head on Dean's shoulder. Dean's arms immediately make their way around Sam and he holds on tightly, palm rubbing circles into Sam's back. It's ridiculous, how easily Sam falls back into his spot, tucked under Dean's chin, even though it's been over a month since they've laid together like this. Sam's body still knows exactly where it fits.

He nuzzles into the space between Dean's neck and shoulder and inhales deeply. It's been way too long since he's been close enough to smell Dean this strongly. Wood, leather, salt. Heady but fresh, like the forest and the ocean all mixed in. It's home, and Sam's been really missing it. He parts his lips, intending to lick at the tendon in Dean's neck, but then he stops himself at the last second. It's been too long since the last time for him to just assume Dean wants this. Plus, not even forty-five minutes ago they were breaking down and crying over Dad, and Sam supposes maybe it's a little inappropriate to mourn the death of your father by having sex with your brother. But, then again, this is how they work. Dean doesn't do talking, so sex is how they connect, how they're there for each other.

Sam props himself up on an elbow so he can see Dean.

"Hey," Dean murmurs, bringing a hand up to smooth Sam's hair off his forehead.

"Can I kiss you?" Sam whispers.

"Yeah," Dean whispers back, and Sam leans back down and presses his lips to Deans, soft and warm at first and then a little deeper when Dean hums into Sam's mouth.

Dean's hands are making their way slowly over Sam's shoulders and down his arms now, then up his abs and down to his hips, like Dean's trying to relearn Sam's body. Dean's fingers are warm palms leave little tingles as they pass over Sam's skin. Sam shivers and Dean laughs quietly.

"Did I hit a ticklish spot?"

Sam shakes his head. "No, just, really missed you. Missed this."

"Me too."

Dean shifts a little closer and presses his lips into Sam's. Really gently at first, almost a platonic brush of skin. Dean's lips are soft, always so soft, and Sam's free hand grips Dean's shoulder to balance himself; way more turned on than he should be by an almost-kiss. Then Dean leans in more and deepens it, one of his legs pushing at Sam's like he wants to flip them over, which Sam realizes after a moment is exactly what Dean's trying to do.

"Hey, let me, okay?"

Dean looks confused, so Sam illustrates his point by pushing gently at Dean's shoulders until he's leaning back against the pillows. Sam pushes up onto his hands and knees over his brother, and then bumps his nose against Dean's.

"Sam," Dean protests half-heartedly.

"C'mon. Let me be the big brother for once. You don't always have to be the strong one." Sam kisses Dean lightly and then brushes their noses again. "Let me take care of you."

Dean sighs, but nods. It's not like he was ever really going to say no in the first place, not when Sam's offering to do all the work. It's more about Dean relinquishing control, and Sam recognizes the significance. Dean wouldn't trust anyone else like he trusts Sam. Especially at a time like this, when Dean's probably only barely keeping it together.

Sam peppers kisses up and down Dean's face, light and barely there, and Dean's sort of smirking up at him but Sam ignores it. He licks and nips along Dean's jaw, and when he reaches Dean's ear he drags his teeth gently over the fleshy lobe and then sucks it into his mouth. Dean sighs happily, breath tickly in Sam's ear, and Sam smiles. He licks around the shell and dips his tongue into it before returning to the earlobe and sucking on it for another minute. Then he moves lower, lapping at the delicate skin where Dean's ear turns into his neck. He sucks a few small bruises into the skin there, loving the way it moves under his lips as Dean tenses and relaxes. Sam moves sideways now, over the pulse point and then back up to Dean's other ear, giving it the same treatment as the first one.

Dean's breathing has quickened and Sam can feel him hardening a little against his knee. He pushes his leg forward a bit so his knee presses into Dean's crotch and Dean gasps. Sam smiles, trying to keep the self-satisfied look off his face as he looks down at his brother. Dean's eyes are wide and his lips are parted, clearly aroused even though all Sam's really done is nibble at his neck. Sam dips his head down to lick at those full, stupidly-sexy lips, and Dean reaches up to grab at Sam's hair so he can angle Sam's head the right way. Sam's supposed to be running this show, but he lets Dean have the control back for just a few minutes, rocking his thigh against Dean's filling erection as Dean tongue-fucks his mouth.

Then he pulls back, ignoring the small noise of protest from Dean, and walks himself backwards a bit so his face is level with Dean's stomach. He noses at Dean's belly button through the soft fabric of Dean's t-shirt, slipping his fingers _just_ underneath it to trace along Dean's hips. Then he uses his nose to push the fabric up a little, licking at the soft, golden hairs under Dean's naval and tugging at them with his teeth. Sam loves that spot, has since Dean hit puberty when they first appeared. He doesn't have a kink for body hair or anything like that, but there's always been something enticing about that little smattering of gold. And now, when Dean's twenty-seven and all man in every way, there's something boyish about those sparse, soft curls.

"Mm. S'good, Sammy."

Dean's still got his fingers in Sam's hair, not controlling or guiding, just holding on. Sam's never really let himself think too hard about how big of a fetish Dean's probably got for his hair, and Dean doesn't talk about it, probably won't ever talk about it, but they're both aware of it. Sam can't ever remember having sex with Dean without fingers tugging at his hair. And for the most part, it doesn't even seem to be about sex. During a long trip, Dean will drive with his arm stretched over the back of the Impala's bench seat, his hand cupped around Sam's neck and his fingers playing absently in the hair there. When they were kids, Sam went through a few years of really terrible nightmares, and no matter what Dad tried, the only thing that could ever calm Sam down afterward was Dean whispering to him and stroking his hair.

That was even true as recently as last year around this time, when Sam would bolt awake having just escaped from flames and charred blond curls and sizzling flesh. They weren't even back in a relationship yet at that point, but Dean would still cozy his body up behind Sam's and pet his head until Sam fell back asleep. They never talked about it in the morning. Not then, anyway. And, well, they haven't slept in the same bed in more than a month between Dad hunting with them again and then … everything else. But back when they used to sleep together every night, Sam remembers waking up almost every morning wrapped around Dean, whether or not they fell asleep like that, and Dean's fingers are always in his hair. Just resting there, gently, like it's Dean's unconscious way of making sure Sam's still there.

Sam kisses and licks his way slowly up Dean's stomach, pushing his t-shirt up inch by inch as he goes. Dean's fully hard now, Sam can feel it twitching against his thigh; searing hot even through two layers of denim, but he's got a little ways to go yet before he gets there. First, he laps at Dean's abs, swallowing down the taste of Dean's skin. Sam's fingers flutter along Dean's flanks as he travels further up, and Dean shivers under Sam's touch. When he reaches Dean's sternum, he latches his lips to smooth skin and sucks hard, swallows, and sucks again a few times. Dean moans, low and deep in his throat, and when Sam pulls back to check out his handy-work there's a redish-purple bruise already blossoming there. He runs his fingers over it and grins in satisfaction when Dean hisses.

"That's gonna last for days," Sam whispers, almost hypnotized by the way the surrounding skin is darkening as he presses at it gently.

"Hate you," Dean mutters, his bleary-eyed expression betraying his words.

"No you don't," Sam answers softly, leaning up just a little so he can whisper against Dean's lips. "You love me. You wanna marry me and have my babies."

"Are you gonna do something or what?" There's a bit of an edge to Dean's voice now. "I'm fuckin' dying here, dude."

Sam smiles innocently. "What, you mean, about _this_?" He rocks into Dean's crotch and Dean moans loudly.

"_Yes_, fuck, just, anything," Dean babbles.

"Relax, I'm gettin' to it." Sam kisses Dean again, letting their tongues play together for a minute while Dean tries to awkwardly thrust his hips up into Sam's leg.

"Sammy," he whines.

"Shh," Sam murmurs. "I got'cha. Relax."

He moves lower again, but not as far as he knows Dean wants him to. He stops first to lick at Dean's right nipple, because this is Sam's show and he loves the way the little pink nubs harden against his tongue. Dean sighs and tosses his head back and forth on the pillow a few times, incoherently imploring Sam to move further south. Finally, Sam takes pity on him and shuffles backwards until his knees fall off the bed and land on the floor. He noses at Dean's ankles as his fingers find Dean's boots and pull at the laces. When he's got them both undone he slips them off, one at a time, and sets them aside. He peels Dean's socks off next, tossing them toward Dean's boots. Then he leans up over the bed enough to reach for the button and zipper on Dean's jeans, smiling when Dean tries to get some friction from Sam's hands.

"C'mon, Sammy," he mumbles.

"Almost there, Dean." Sam pats Dean's hips. "Lift up."

Dean lifts his hips up enough for Sam to tug his pants down and off. Dean likes his jeans looser than Sam does, so it's easy to slip them off and toss them to the ground. Dean groans as his erection is released from its denim confines, tenting his boxers obscenely even though they're the snug, boxer-briefs Dean likes. Actually, this pair isn't that snug at all, they look a little too big, when Sam looks a little closer, and yep, those are Sam's.

"How long have you been stealing my underwear?" he asks, swatting Dean's thigh affectionately.

"M'not _stealing_ them, shut up." Dean's arm reaches out with the clear intent of smacking Sam back but he can't reach. "Laundry must've gotten mixed up."

"No way, dude." Sam's grin widens. "I do the laundry, and I know whose stuff is whose. C'mon, tell me."

"Sam, you're fuckin' killing me," Dean grumbles, gripping the sheets in his fists as Sam licks at the inside of his right knee. "Please, it's been forever and after that freakin' tongue bath I'm so hard it _hurts_. Just, please."

"Not till you tell me." Sam's voice is muffled, lips pressed to Dean's thigh, kissing and nipping occasionally; the skin getting softer the higher he gets. More sensitive, too, if the broken little gasps Dean's making are any indication.

"Sammy," Dean moans, half in pleasure and half in annoyance.

Sam's rock hard himself right now, the taste of Dean's skin is still on his tongue and the heat coming off Dean's crotch is crazy and it's right in his face. Not to mention the sounds Dean's making, beautiful hums and hitches of panted breath, honestly Sam's probably going to come himself the minute he gets Dean's cock in his mouth. But he pushes, because Dean's so far gone right now that he'll give Sam whatever he wants. Sam dips his head down and runs the tip of his nose up Dean's cloth-covered erection.

"_Fuck_," Dean breathes.

"Tell me and I'll suck it so hard you'll black out," he says, trying to put a bit of that predatory growl in his voice that always turns Dean on.

Dean grunts and moans at the same time, and Sam sees a little wet spot starting to form on the fabric. Dean heaves shaky breaths for a minute, trying to reign himself back in, and throws an arm over his eyes.

"I just … missed you. They smelled like you." he mutters, cheeks darkening in a flush that isn't because of how turned on he is.

Oh. A swell of emotion takes Sam's breath away for a few seconds. That's … amazing. And _hot_. He crawls up Dean's body and pushes Dean's arm back to the bed so he can see Dean's eyes, black with lust and heavy lidded in need even though the expression on his face is one of embarrassment.

"Love you so much," he whispers against the corner of Dean's mouth.

"I know, baby boy," Dean whispers back, running his hands over Sam's shoulder blades. "Please?"

"Yeah." Sam nods, presses a kiss to Dean's collarbone and then shimmies back down so he's face to face with his own boxers.

He mouthes at the hard line of Dean's cock through the cotton for a minute or two, getting the fabric all moist and tasting like his own spit. Then he hooks his fingers under the elastic band and pulls them down slowly, inching down Dean's sweat-dappled skin. Dean's erection springs free after the fabric passes over it, slapping onto his stomach and leaving an obscene smear of translucent precome under his belly button. Sam slides the boxers down Dean's legs and off, tosses them aside, and then laps up that little bit of salty liquid. Then he repeats his earlier action, this time running the flat of his tongue up Dean's cock instead of his nose. Dean huffs and makes a strangled noise, and Sam smiles inwardly. He loves being able to coax noises like that out of his brother. Sam spends a good minute just lapping up and down at the vein on the underside of Dean's flushed dick, dragging his teeth over it and then soothing with his tongue like he did on Dean's nipples.

"Sammy," Dean mutters, moaning and reaching blindly for Sam's head. "Can't … please …"

Sam takes Dean's hand and guides it to the side of his own head, where Dean's fingers immediately tighten in Sam's hair. Alright, enough teasing. Sam's not sure exactly how long it's been, but Dean's panting and mumbling incoherently and his dick is leaking copiously against his belly. Sam got him so worked up he's probably not going to last that much longer anyway, and there's pretty much nothing Sam loves more than getting Dean to come down his throat. He picks the throbbing organ up in his hand, holding it upright as he licks up the moisture. Dean gasps and twitches at the contact, and then arches into it when Sam gets the whole head into his mouth and sucks.

"Mm," he hums contentedly, tugging gently at Sam's hair. "Good, so good, Sammy."

Sam grins around his mouthful, and then slides his head down slowly, evenly, letting the hard shaft sink into his mouth. He gets about halfway down before he backs off, not bothering to swallow so a little rivulet of spit runs down Dean's length. He moves back down, relaxing when he feels Dean hit the roof of his mouth and changing the angle to let Dean slip into his throat.

"Shit!" Dean cries, bucking a little and Sam closes his eyes and takes a deep breath through his nose to keep from gagging.

He starts bobbing his head, slowly at first while Dean groans filthily and mutters a litany of similar curses all centering around 'fuck' and 'god' and 'Sammy'. Sam sort of wants to take this slow, savor it, because he loves the feeling of Dean heavy on his tongue, the musky scent from the dark curls at the base and the way Dean gasps and clutches at his hair. But Dean's close already, Sam can tell by the way his breathing quickens, so he grips Dean's hips and goes for broke, moving quickly up and down on Dean's length, suckling at the head and tonguing at the vein underneath.

Dean moans and pulls on his handfuls of Sam's hair, sending little pinpricks of pain down Sam's spine that only turn him on more. He's vividly aware, all of a sudden, of how hard he is even though he's fully clothed and no one's even touched him yet. He presses the heel of his palm down onto the bulge in his jeans, relieving the pressure a little. The sensation makes him moan around Dean's cock, and the vibrations have Dean moaning louder in return. Not letting up the pace he's got going up and down Dean's erection, Sam uses his elbow to nudge Dean's thighs further apart. Then he ghosts his fingers down over Dean's heavy sac and lower, brushes the tip of his index finger against Dean's hole. He doesn't push inside, just presses against it in time to his bobbing head, and that's it.

Dean grunts loudly and shoots creamy heat down Sam's throat. Sam keeps sucking but moves back a little so the streams hit the roof of his mouth. He squeezes Dean's balls gently and swallows every drop Dean has to give, and doesn't pull back until Dean's gone completely soft in his mouth. Usually Dean would be pushing him off by now, but he doesn't even protest this time as Sam laps at the soft, spent flesh, getting every little bit of come and spit he missed. Dean tastes fucking good, sweet and salty and earthy. Sam loves having the flavor on his tongue. Then Sam rests his forehead against Dean's hip, breathing deeply to get the frantic beating of his own heart to even out. He can't hear much over the blood rushing through his head, but he's pretty sure Dean still hasn't spoken. The belly under his ear is rising and falling so fast that he's a little worried Dean's started hyperventilating.

"You okay up there?" he pants.

Dean doesn't answer, so Sam manages to push himself up enough to see his brother's face. Dean's eyes are closed, features relaxed other than his heaving chest.

"Dean?" Sam prompts, nudging Dean's thigh and then shaking it a little when he gets no response.

Dean doesn't react, he doesn't even flinch. He's … holy shit, he's actually passed out. He's – really? Sam pokes him again, harder this time, just to be sure, but yep, he's out. Fuck. Sam's grinning like an idiot all of a sudden, but he can't help it. Between Dean, a two year relationship with Jess and then Dean again, Sam's had a lot of sex in his life, but he's _never_ made anyone come so hard they passed out. And as if he actually told Dean he was going to make him black out earlier. That had so been all talk, Sam was just trying to get Dean riled up; he had no idea he was actually capable of following through with it.

"Shit," he breathes, laughing shakily as he crawls up the bed and drops down beside Dean.

The jostling of the mattress seems to start to bring Dean back – he stirs and after a second his eyes flutter open. Sam props his head up on his hand and leans into his brother, free hand dropping down to Dean's chest to pet gently at the mark he'd left there earlier.

"Sammy?" Dean mumbles sleepily.

"Right here," Sam answers softly.

"You … holy … _fuck_," Dean huffs, still trying to catch his breath. He stares up at Sam with glassy eyes. "Did I …?"

"Black out, like I promised?" Sam asks, unable to keep the self-satisfied smile off his face. "Why yes, I believe you did."

Dean laughs unsteadily. "Shit. You're good, little brother."

"I was a bit worried I'd killed you."

"Pretty damn close."

Sam laughs back and leans down to kiss Dean, unintentionally pressing his still-present erection into Dean's hip. He hisses, the neglected flesh is oversensitive, and Dean blinks a few times.

"You – " Dean lifts his head up to glance down toward Sam's crotch. "You didn't ..."

"Not yet." Sam pecks a quick kiss to Dean's cheek. "S'okay, though, I'll just go take care of this. Be right back."

"No, wait," Dean protests, reaching down and tugging helplessly at the button on Sam's jeans. "I can."

"Dean, you're Jell-O right now. Don't worry about it, I got this."

"C'mon, I want to," Dean insists, fumbling but managing to undo Sam's fly and slip his erection free and wrap his hand around it.

Sam gasps at the touch, his dick weeping and begging for it even though Dean's strokes are feeble and definitely not enough to get the job done. He lets Dean tug at him weakly for maybe a minute, and then he moves in and kisses Dean gently, affectionately.

"You're awesome for trying but this isn't gonna do it," he whispers against Dean's lips.

"Sorry," Dean mutters. "You wore me out."

"Don't be sorry. Here," Sam offers, reaching his own hand down and intertwining his fingers with Dean's around his shaft. "Together?"

Dean nods and kisses Sam back, lazily rubbing his tongue against Sam's as their hands stroke up and down Sam's length. Sam's been hard for such a long time and he's still so turned on from making Dean come so hard that it only takes about a dozen, firm strokes before he's coming too, painting Dean's hip creamy white and moaning into Dean's mouth. It's not the best orgasm he's ever had, but it doesn't matter. This was about Dean. Sam lets his softening dick slip out of their hands, but he doesn't let go. He brings their tangled fingers up to rest over Dean's heart, dropping his head down on Dean's shoulder and throwing a leg over Dean's, snuggling closer.

"I … I think I needed this," Dean murmurs, kissing Sam's hair.

That's probably about as close as Dean's ever going to get to actually admitting he needs Sam's help to get through Dad's death, and it's enough. Sam smiles softly. "Me too. Don't pull away from me anymore, okay? Please?"

"Sam," Dean sighs.

"No, I … I'm not saying we have to talk about it," Sam says quickly, lifting his head up so he can look Dean in the eye. "I know that's not how you deal with things, and that's okay. But this?" He gestures between them, hoping Dean understands that Sam means the closeness and the intimacy just as much as the actual sex. "This is how _we_ deal with things. We both need it."

Reluctantly, Dean nods. "Yeah. I know."

"I love you," Sam murmurs. "God, just … so much. Kills me to see you hurtin'."

Dean rolls his eyes but smiles affectionately, pulling Sam back down into his arms. "Such a drama queen."

Sam smiles back; can't help the ridiculous grin from taking over his face. If Dean's back to sarcasm and good-naturedly teasing Sam, all the while cuddling him but at the same time trying to pretend like he isn't, Sam's putting this day down in the win column. And he could use a win. They both could.


End file.
